Saturday, May 9, 2009

I am the perfect Indian girlWith sun burnt ripe hay for hair And caviar streaks in the airWith orange peaches for cheeksReflecting the gory yellow of my noonsI feel heroic with each pigment of tanWhen i keep jumping man holesAnd fall asleep in busesMy scalp produces a modest proofI bathe the best on sundaysAnd my bag may stain with oilMy college dreams are television borneI can pretend Napoleon never existedWhen I nod furiously at my grandma's commentaryI can neither be a capitalist ('cos I don't have the money)Nor a communist in wanting (by default I have to budget)I am lauded with the parent pride anthemAnd I tend to be 35mm wide and loud in love.I am loud, you can count my teeth.But that is how I justify all erratica

Photo story

Me is

I am red and seeded. My father dreamt so much and my mother was too careful. My brother just gaped as he grew. My grandpa writes letters, my teachers rely on students, they are very apologetic as well.